CHAPTER SIX
At about 9.30am, Hodder was abruptly awoken from his drunken slumbers by the distinctly non-melodic sounds of ‘La Ventura’ just another one of those Nordic Thrash Metal bands so adored by Lauren. Naturally, he knew little of them, but it was enough to know that they were merely the latest in a long line of Vikings to disturb life upon the northeast coast as they pillaged and stole his sleep. However, he was mindful that he couldn’t afford to fall out with Lauren. He needed her to transfer his recordings onto memory sticks. One, his, was to have the recordings of Randall-Ord and Parks whilst the other, which he would give to Baxter would have only the voice of Parks upon it.
Notwithstanding, he had to tread carefully, he had absolutely no idea how to transfer the audio files. He could not ask Baxter. He could not take it to the Technical Support Unit and he certainly could not take it to the local computer dealership. He knew that he was not quite in the Gary Glitter league, but he was aware that his request could draw unnecessary attention. He had also decided to keep the original recording of Randall-Ord on the digital recorder, even though it had been unlawfully obtained, it may be required to be disclosed as evidence, as or more than likely, if events ‘panned out’ as normal then as ‘insurance’.
Hodder’s relationship with Lauren was generally good, but occasionally it could be strained. This probably had less to do with the step daughter/step father relationship than her chosen lifestyle which Hodder found puzzling to say the least. There had been a few occasions over the recent past that he wished that she had went away to university rather than study locally. Whilst trying to ignore his natural selfishness, he thought that it would have widened her horizons and broadened her experiences. More importantly, from a parental perspective, he would not have to see what she was actually up to, and quite bizarrely, he felt that he would worry less about her.
Ignorance was bliss, and as always had been the case with Hodder, he was happy to be blissfully ignorant. He was however, certain that Lauren would eventually leave the ‘dark side’, return ‘into the light’ and that she would forge a decent career for herself. He was confident that all of this was just a minor, temporary, if somewhat baffling phase of her life. A mere distraction. She was, underneath all of the mock funeral attire, and shock make up, a really sweet girl. Hodder had to reluctantly concede that all of the ‘Goth’s’ that he had met, either through Lauren, or during the course of his work, were despite their chosen look, very decent people. They were generally, very gentle people whose appearance belied their true demeanour.
He worked on the theory that under some circumstances, that it was better to look like the real thing than to actually be the real thing. Hodder was certain of few things in life. He was however certain that neither Lauren nor her friends were amateur embalmers actively engaged in grave robbing or necrophilia. Yes, given her recent ‘bedroom guest’ he could certainly rule out necrophilia! Hodder also had to suppress his ‘Goth humour’. Otherwise innocent lines like ‘I bet you’ve got a few skeletons in your closet’ or ‘Are you working late tonight… Oh, that will be the graveyard shift’, took on a new and wholly unwelcome significance.
So, coffee cup in hand (decaffeinated of course) he gently knocked on Lauren’s bedroom door. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. Hodder was sure that she was in because of the loud music coming from the room. He tried the door. It was locked.
He sensed that the ‘song’ if indeed, that is what it was, was coming to a close, and as he was standing outside the door, about to knock again, it suddenly burst open and ‘hot pants’, the young man that he had seen on the landing a couple of nights earlier, bounded out of the room, satisfied look, and broad grin spreading across his face. A job well done! At least his day had started off better than Hodder’s!
He walked straight into Hodder, almost knocking him over.
Without a word, Hodder raised the mug of steaming coffee handed it to the ‘guest’ turned on his heels, and he went back downstairs. He was not about to make another cup and take it upstairs. That was going just a bit too far. Shagging my stepdaughter is one thing…drinking all of my coffee, well, that is something quite different altogether…where will it all end? Toast as well? Was it Hodder? Was he a prude? Was he over protective? Had he forgotten what it was like to be young?
The answer, of course, was ‘Yes’, ‘Yes’ and ‘Yes’. He was a parent but his job forced him to confront behaviours that challenged him every day of the week. Sure, the world was changing, he just did not want his world to change so quickly, and certainly not for the changes to take place in his home and under his nose. He naively wanted to think that for a little longer at least, that a few things that he regarded as precious and important, and over which he felt utterly powerless, would remain as they were. How stupid he was.
In truth, he felt that his home was probably the only remaining place where he could fully relax. The last bastion against a world that he was programmed to respond to, no matter how distasteful or disturbing it may be to do so.
He felt that his job gave him a passport to a different world, but the good news was that he got a return ticket from that world, bringing home with him at night what was left of his shredding sanity. Others, victims, vulnerable persons of all ages, were left behind, trapped in a never ending cycle of crime, violence, poverty and worse.
He knew deep down what lay at the core of his problem with Lauren. He realised that it was a big bridge to cross when you realised that your (step) daughter was sexually active. He was, in truth, a little embarrassed, but probably no more than Lauren would have been if she had spent some time considering that he and her mother were, albeit only occasionally, at it too.
Notwithstanding, when Hodder became a parent, admittedly by proxy, he resolved that no issue would be beyond discussion and that openness and frankness would prevail. He wanted to banish all of the ‘pseudo hang ups’ and ‘psychobabble’ that affected so many other families. How wrong he was proving himself to be.
Hodder realised that he barely knew Lauren in any real sense. He seemed to show little interest in her world, or what she was doing in it. He did not know who her friends were or what she was really interested in. He rarely sought her opinion on any subject. Parenthood…he realised like so many of his other responsibilities, required so much more from him.
More noise from upstairs. Does this bloke not have a home to go to?…Drifting off he imagined that ‘hot pants’ was probably saving up for a second hand hearse adorned with a window sticker saying ‘Goths are up all night’. And judging by the package concealed in his flame retardant underwear he probably had been….and with Lauren…the dirty bastard!
The increasingly, agitated Detective prowled his living room, like a caged, caged thing, waiting for footsteps coming downstairs. He wanted to get these recordings transferred so he could give Baxter a call and get the ball rolling just enough to get back to work. Still daydreaming he heard the front door slam and was disappointed to see Lauren and ‘Hot Pants’ walking along his short drive. He ran to the door and shouted. ‘Lauren, can you do me a favour’? By the look on her face she was not in the least bit impressed but she walked back to the door leaving ‘Herman Munster’ at the garden gates.
‘I really need a big favour’.
Standing directly in front of him, Doctor Marten’s 14 hole boots, (naturally) spread apart, arms folded across her ample chest she stared at him darkly and fired one word at him…’WHAT’?
‘I need to get some recordings copied for work’.
She began to turn away and said curtly ‘Then go to work’.
‘I’m on holiday. I just need to do a bit of work before I can enjoy myself. I might even take your mum away for a few days’.
A light seemed to flicker. Then the switch was thrown then her eyes illuminated. Internal floodlights lit her up. Was that the sound of pennies dropping? Her tone softened and she said ‘When do you need it’?
‘Well, it’s pretty urgent. The sooner I can
get it done the sooner that we might get away’. Without speaking she turned on her heels and walked over to ‘Herman’. She said a few words to him. He smiled broadly…he had great teeth for a resident of the underworld…’they must have good dentists there’ thought Hodder.
Lauren stood on ‘Oil Resistant’ air cushioned tiptoes and kissed ‘Herman’ deeply. She spun around and walked back to the still open front door. Hodder felt terrible, he had just duped his step daughter…had he no scruples? He did not have to ask himself that question.
He knew the answer.
Was that the sound of more ‘pennies dropping’? This time it was him. Shit! He would probably have to take his wife away now! That would teach him. On reflection, he thought that that may not be such a bad thing. He had been neglecting her of late, working and playing too hard.
Every cloud and all that. But this was a case of first things first.
Without disclosing the nature of the recordings, he told Lauren that he wanted to transfer them onto memory sticks. She said that it was easy and that she could do it on her laptop. ‘Where are the sticks’?
Hodder realised that he did not have any memory sticks, so, he and Lauren jumped into his car and went to the local computer shop where armed with her knowledge and his money, two memory sticks were purchased.
Just being in the car, felt strangely intimate to Hodder. For too long now, Lauren had been the person who just passed him on the landing or kept unsocial hours. Hodder realised that he barely knew her, and as usual, in keeping with all of his many failings, he resolved to do something about it. Whether he would remained to be seen. It was however, one of Hodder’s many shortcomings that he always seemed to have something more urgent to attend to first. He resolved to do something about that character trait too…eventually!
On the way back, and in an effort to break the uneasy silence that had grown between them he asked about ‘Herman’. He’s not called ‘Herman’.
‘Well, unless you introduce your friends to your mum and I how are we to know’?
‘His name is Ricky and he is studying History of Politics’ at my Uni’. She rebuked him further…’If you spent a little more time at home you may actually get to know him…mum really likes him’.
‘He seems like a nice bloke’.
‘He is’ she said ‘and I don’t want you scaring him away’.
‘Well, judging by the way he looks, he’s the one who will be doing the scaring’
‘There you go again. Why do you do this dad?’
Hodder was taken aback, Lauren had not called him ‘dad’ for years. Was this a sign of her growing maturity or an indication of the size of the gulf that had grown between Hodder and his family? Embarrassed for the second time that day, Hodder apologised to Lauren and said that it was just his sense of humour.
‘Do you know what the first rule of comedy is? He was about to interrupt her and shout ‘Timing’ but she beat him to it and said. ‘Being funny…you might want to try it one day. It’s known to do wonders for jokes’.
Touché. He knew that he had deserved the ridicule.
Back at home, Lauren went to get her laptop as Hodder made her the second cup of the day. When she returned, she set up the device, took the digital recorder from Hodder and her hands became a blur as she navigated across screens, menus, pop-ups, pop-downs and the occasional put-down for Hodder. He used computers on a daily basis whilst at work, but derived no pleasure from them whatsoever. He did not or invest any time in improving his computer knowledge or skills...that was best left to younger people!
Hodder was not quite the Luddite that Lauren accused him of being. His genuinely held view was that he did not care how these machines worked. He just accepted that they did. He observed the global digital revolution from afar, and the local one from across the breakfast bar. He accepted technology as a fact of modern life, the same way that he accepted in no particular order, lying incompetent politicians, delays at airports, third world poverty and gout.
Within a matter of minutes Lauren had finished transferring the data and they sat together. Talking. Talking about nothing in particular, but he remembered that he could not remember the last time they had done this.
It occurred to Hodder that he really did not know anything at all about Lauren these days. Though residing under the same roof she was living a virtually independent life. What were her likes? Dislikes? It seemed an age ago that as a two year old Lauren and her mother unexpectedly came into his life and changed it.
When was the last time he asked her about her university course? When was the last time they sat down and laughed together? When was the last time they did anything together other than argue? How, he mused did the ‘drip drip’ effect of losing people whom you should never lose creep up on you so silently? How could he have been so blind? When did he really stop showing an interest in Lauren and for that matter, his wife? And, above all, did it show?
Truth was that he spent his life putting others first, often not because he wanted to, but because if people like him did not, who would? He felt that he had no choice in the matter but resolved at that moment that everything was going to change for the better. He WOULD become more attentive.
He WOULD spend more time with his family. He WOULD. He definitely WOULD…the minute this problem was sorted…then an inner sadness enveloped him, spreading like a cold chill through his innards. Could he really change? Hodder did not answer that question…he did not really have to. He knew the answer and he was already afraid.
Before he could do anything else he had to get the recording to Baxter. He had to get Palma arrested, he then had to get Palma to look for Parks. Then, and only then, with his professional life in order that he could he start to repair his family life.
Hodder heard someone talking to him, from afar. Silently at first, then gradually getting louder and louder…it was Lauren…he had done it again drifted off into his internal private world whilst talking with Lauren. Her voice brought him back…’ Okay, all done, I have marked which stick is which so you can’t get them mixed up’.
If she was angry with him, she did not show it. Growing maturity, or just the prospect of she and Ricky shagging in his bed? Even in moments like this he could not banish the cynical demons that haunted him.
Hodder thanked her and she said ‘Does mum know that you are taking her away? I would give her a call at work if I were you…she may not be able to get the time off at such short notice’.
The ‘Old Hodder’ instantly re-emerged and his inner voice said ‘Never thought of that…I may be able to get out of this after all’. However, he immediately felt guilty, picked up the phone called his wife Grace, a Human Resources Manager at a local Pharmaceutical Company. She was busy but a colleague promised that she would return the call. Hodder left a message saying that it was not urgent. No need for her to worry.
His ‘new’ relationship with Lauren left him feeling good, and it felt better when she showed him how to access the sound files on the memory sticks and lent him her laptop to do so. What a difference a day makes!
Hodder was by nature an impatient person. A doer. He would much rather be getting’ his hands dirty’ than be sitting on the side lines. Unlike ‘Gee-Gee’ he did not consider policing to be a spectator sport, which, was probably why he found himself into so many scrapes. That said, recent events had got him around to thinking that maybe he was getting just a little bit too old for this kind of work. However, when he considered the options a 9.00-5.00, Monday to Friday office job, he concluded that ‘No danger meant no scrapes and therefore no fun’.
His impetuosity got the better of him. He weakened gave into it, and immediately called Baxter who said that he would come around within the hour. It actually took Baxter about twenty minutes to get there and over a coffee Baxter brought him up to speed with the office politics in order of importance. The D.I. was shagging Kim the buxom young temp. They were no closer to solving the mystery of the damaged CID car and what made
matters worse, a local drunk had been found by the river, not just drunk but apparently unconscious too.
Apparently, ‘Gee-Gee’ and one of the temps were looking into this with a strict brief from the D.I. that ‘No matter what this is…do not come back here and tell me that this is a crime’.
Hodder was surprised that his sudden leave of absence was no longer headlines of the police station ‘gossip columns’. It’s not every day that you lose a prisoner with the potential of causing serious embarrassment to your bosses. He thought that such a monumental cock up demanded more column inches than he was getting…arrogantly, he felt that his ego had been dented.
When they did get down to serious business, it was clear that Baxter was still not fully convinced of the wisdom of Hodder’s plan. He changed his position somewhat when he heard Parks’ voice clearly giving Hodder information about the haul of goodies in Palma’s lock up.
‘So’ said Hodder ‘What about it?...Are you going to turn it over, you should not have any problems getting a warrant with that information’.
Baxter looked at him for a few elongated seconds before he said ‘There is only one problem. The D.I. has asked me to focus exclusively on finding Parks. If he thinks that I am either not doing it, or on a wild goose chase he is not going to be very happy about it whether he is getting his end away or not…In fact, he probably wouldn’t sign the warrant application. Sorry to say this Jim, but, he has told me that he regards you as damaged goods’.
‘Damaged goods! Damaged fucking goods! I’ll show that idiot’!
‘How? You are out of the game, and any freelancing by you will not be welcome along the corridors of power’.
Hodder jumped to his feet. ‘Out of the mouths of babes…Corridors of Power…have you ever considered a career in politics Jeff’?
‘What do you mean’?
‘Stay there. Help yourself to more coffee. If Grace calls on the landline tell her that I will call her back in five’. With that Hodder disappeared. Baxter was at a loss as he watched Hodder’s taillights disappear. Moments later, he heard muffled voices. Hodder was clearly speaking to someone on his mobile telephone. He came back a few minutes later and said ‘Okay, it’s fixed…When you go back to the nick make sure that you cannot find the D.I. don’t worry he and Kim will probably be at Boots getting a pregnancy testing kit! Go and see Ben Heath he is expecting you. He will fix up the warrant application for you’.
‘No. No way…you’re not even at work and you are playing political games with the bosses. It’s me who is gonna get scorched over this not you. You are on your holidays for God’s sake. You just can’t leave things alone…Are you enjoying your hols Jim’? Before Hodder could answer Baxter continued...‘Cos, I sure as fuck am not’.
Baxter made to leave but Hodder grabbed him by the arm. ‘Will you please just listen…Ben Heath and I go back a long way…he knows about the significance of the recording. He knows that there is no love lost between the D.I. and me. This is the way it is going to work Jeff, go back to the nick, and just before you get there call me. I will give you a minute and place a call through to your desk. Answer it. After the call, let whoever is the office hear you complain about having to go and see the D.C.I….when you get back downstairs with the signed application form just continue to complain about getting extra work from the D.C.I. as well as having to clear up my mess. Do you think anyone is going to question where the D.C.I. gets his information from’?...I have told you before young Jeffery, this game is all about learning to manage the managers…what do you reckon’?
Baxter stared deep into Hodder’s eyes and said ‘You do know that you are a manipulative twat don’t you’?
‘Actually D.C. Baxter could I respectfully remind you to moderate your language, there is an impressionable young child in this house’.
‘If I said ‘You are a cunt Sergeant’ what would you do’? said Baxter.
Sensing victory and smiling, Hodder said ‘Well, naturally Constable, I would have to take the appropriate disciplinary action that the circumstances may dictate’.
‘Okay’ said Baxter ‘I only think that you are a cunt Sergeant’…call me later’. With that Baxter left.
When he got back to the police station Baxter did not return to the CID office. Instead, he went to the uniform parade room, knowing it to be the one place where a fellow Detective would not disturb him.
Sitting at an available computer terminal, he set about researching the Smart phone theft. It was not so much that he did not trust Hodder, it was more to do with his concerns that he was risking the wrath of the D.I. It did not matter what Hodder had said…if the wheel came off and he ended up in an argument with the D.I. there would only be one winner and right now he really did not fancy walking the streets in the middle if the night shaking hands with door handles wearing a hat right out of a ‘Punch and Judy Show’.
Marginal relief spread over Baxter. He confirmed all he needed to know about the offence. It was still undetected so at least he could go to a magistrate and hand on bible, state that his information was, at least, in part accurate. He could basically say that the offence had been committed. Baxter then set about filling in the warrant application which he would later present to the D.C.I. for approval.
He did not have as much faith in Parks as Hodder appeared to be investing. After all, Parks did take leave of the police as soon as he possibly could, albeit, in circumstances which if he were ever caught, would cause him additional inconvenience, which he could reflect on at leisure, and at Her Majesties’ Pleasure.
At this time, in a smart semi-detached house some miles away, Hodder was pacing the floor anxiously waiting on a call from Baxter.
Strangely, at the same time, Dean Parks was enjoying a ‘Whopper’ at a ‘Burger King’ restaurant upon Northumberland Street, Newcastle, having just had his hair shorn and died jet black. As he munched away, he considered the comparative merits of ‘Burger King’ v ‘McDonalds’ fries. ‘B.K.’ got his vote, probably more to do with the ‘belch factor’ than any comparative nutritional benefits.
He got up leaving ketchup stained cardboard containers behind him before departing that fine food emporium. He had decided that he needed a flop for a couple of days, but not before a spot of shoplifting. He needed some new clothes, a new look, and a junior hacksaw before he decided what he was going to do next.
As Dean Parks walked up Northumberland Street, he was scanning the shop fronts, deciding which stores in the city centre were likely to offer him the best chance of 100% discount on all non-purchases under the price of exactly nothing. He knew that he was spoilt for choice, but was keen to avoid the major outlets and their CCTV systems and store Detectives. This could be the perfect time to give some footfall to an independent trader. After all, they complained often enough about a dearth of customers entering their stores, though he did recognise that he would not be shopping in the ‘traditional sense’….
As it rang Hodder ran to the breakfast bar to pick up his mobile.
‘Hi Jeff. What took you so long’?
It was Grace.
He sighed, not loud enough to be heard…he hoped.
‘Hi, how are you doing’?
‘Why are you not at work’? Without any hesitation Grace continued…
‘Why did you ring? Is anything wrong? Lauren left a message saying that you and I are going away. What’s all this about’?
At this time a vivid vision of Edvard Munch’s famous work filled his head space. He was the living embodiment of the picture…His inner voice screamed…’Too many questions! Give me a break! I’ve got more important things to do right now’!
‘Oh, no problem, (he lied…just when he thought that things were about to get better between Lauren and him, she goes and spoils it all) I’m okay, Admin found some unused leave of mine (he lied again). If I didn’t take it I was told that I would lose it (he lied again) so, I just thought that if you could get some time off maybe we could…Grac
e interrupted and excitedly said…’I’ve got it sorted. I can have three days off, so we can make a weekend of it’. Without pausing for breath she continued ‘Where do you want to go? Not abroad not enough time to go shopping for clothes unless we go tonight what do you think? Do you think Lauren will be okay’?
Here we go again. Questions! Fucking Questions!
Hodder let some of the heat from the pressure cooker that was his head release slowly…’Why don’t we talk about this tonight. We can probably book online. I do have a couple of things to clear up for work first though’. Grace sighed heavily…as if she was expecting him to let her down again as per usual. Just then he heard an incoming call through the ear piece of his mobile. ‘Hey, got to go, I have another call coming in. With any luck (he lied again) that should be work telling me not to bother to go in. I will speak to you later’.
She was gone, and he was speaking to Baxter…’What took you so long’?
Baxter had been simmering for a while, he was slowly coming to the boil still suspecting that things were about to go awry. That was the problem with working with the eternal optimist that was Hodder. He did see the dangers, often before others…however, he just chose to ignore them!
Transcending himself to a Zen like state, or something which equated to near normal blood pressure, Baxter said ‘Call me in one minute’. Baxter then walked into the building and was heading for the CID office when the civilian Property Officer asked Baxter whether he could release some exhibits from his recent court case back to the owner.
Baxter hurriedly said that he would discuss the matter with him later. He started running towards the CID Office. When he got there the agoraphobic ‘Gee-Gee’ was at Baxter’s desk about to answer the telephone. He looked up, saw Baxter, who said ‘It’s okay, I’ll get it’. ‘Close shave there’ thought Baxter, for both of us. ‘I nearly got found out and ‘Gee-Gee’ nearly got a job. Two jobs in one day that must be a first’!
‘What was all that crap about’ said Hodder.
Baxter ‘Well, I’ve just come in, Sir’.
‘And the Oscar for this year’s best supporting actor goes to…’
‘Yeah, no problem, I can come up and see you now’…with that Baxter put the phone in its cradle’.
‘Has the D.C.I. been looking for me lads? He said to no one in particular…’Wonder what he wants’?
Once he was upstairs and walking along the Command Corridor, in the direction of the D.C.I.’s office, Baxter saw a number of persons whom he recognised but did not know by name. These were the type of people who could spend an entire day walking around, bobbing from office to office with the same empty manila internal mail envelope.
It was rumoured that several of these gallant crime fighters, for not all were lowly paid civilians, had spent many years doing the same thing. Not a very efficient way to run a police service but a great way to organise your social life and garnish pension credits at the same time. Obviously ‘polluted’ by Hodder’s cynicism, Baxter wondered whether there was a waiting list for such positions. If so, it was better than even money that ‘Gee-Gee’ was jockeying for a position somewhere near the top of that list.
The D.C.I. was alone when Baxter arrived. He knocked and waited for permission to enter, closing the door behind him. In the rarefied atmosphere of the D.C.I.’s office Baxter felt a little uncomfortable, he usually only went there for his annual staff appraisal or a dressing down. Coincidentally, both these events usually occurred on the same day.
Sensing Baxter’s tension Ben Heath said ‘You really do not need to worry you know. Hodder is a good bloke, I know that some people regard him as being a little ‘unconventional’ but believe me, you could do a lot worse than listen to him’.
‘Well, Sir, it’s just that on occasions I just find it a little difficult to keep up with him’.
‘And you think that I don’t…We are Police Officers Jeff. ( Baxter flushed…’the D.C.I. knows my first name’)…We deal in uncertainties. We joined not because we believed any of that shit about ‘making a difference’. We do it because whether you believe it or not we actually quite like the chaos. I shudder when I think of some of the terrible things that people do to each other, but guess what? It would be far worse if we were not here to get stuck in the middle of it all…
‘I’ll put it this way. It’s a bit like a football match except that both teams are playing by different rules.’ Good Guys F.C.’, that’s us, apart from a few notable exceptions, we by and large, play by the rules of the game. The opposition, ‘Bad Guys F.C.’ don’t have any rules and even if they did they would just break them. If we were not here it would be even worse than it is now. And that, in a nutshell is why I support Jim Hodder and by default you. Now give me that warrant application form’.
Baxter passed the document to his boss’s boss without speaking and when it was returned Heath said… ‘As far as anyone else downstairs is concerned you got this information from me…any shit from anyone, and I mean anyone, let me know. Can you wedge the door open on your way out’?
The meeting was over.
Baxter left the office in stunned silence…he did not fully understand what had just happened but it felt like he had been given an ‘invisible seal of approval’. He was puzzled and at the same time strangely elated, but worryingly, he also sensed ‘the ghost of Jim Hodder’ walking along the corridor with him.
Baxter returned to the CID office where ‘Gee-Gee’ was holding court. He was speaking at such a volume that it was impossible not to hear him telling whoever did, or did not want to listen, that the old wino at the hospital hadn’t been assaulted or robbed and that the cause of his ‘blackout’ was currently under investigation by the medical staff. If only, everyone in the office could be as efficient as him, crime would be eradicated in no time at all.
And all of this without even leaving his desk! Then, ‘Gee-Gee’, selfless to the last, turned his wholly inconsiderable crime fighting skills to making a lunch time sandwich list.
‘Self-praise is no recommendation’ was Baxter’s immediate observation. He then made a quick call to the Magistrates Clerks Office and was relieved to hear that the court was still in session. He was advised to go directly to the court where his warrant application would be dealt with.
Whilst walking towards the court house, Baxter saw that the doors were obscured by chain smoking, snide wearing, ‘multi sovereign adorned’ knuckle trailers, bearing only a vague resemblance to human kind. Anthropologist’s everywhere could have a field day here.
As he made his uneasy way through the throng, over the spittle covered paving, the usual un-attributable muffled insults filled the air ‘Anyone fancy a barbecue’? ‘Can you smell Pork ‘? And most bizarrely of all, because Baxter was neither black nor wearing the dark blue uniform of the police… ‘Black Bastard’.
This was a kind of ‘Rite of Passage’ reserved for all young officers like Baxter, and it was one which he was still coming to terms with. He wished that Hodder had been with him…he could always rely on him for a sarcastic remark which the protagonists would not understand. But, on this occasion he was alone and felt that he had to respond…without thinking he said to the largely male gathering ‘Come on lads, I hope that that is spit on the ground…you’re not in a cell now you know…remember there are kid’s around!’.
He walked on smiling in satisfaction. He was learning from Hodder, who usually insulted their virility or intelligence. Not bad to be going on with for now he though! A work in progress.
Once inside, he went through the security scanners aware that his keys wallet, in fact, anything personal, could be stolen from the plastic inspection tubs by one of the idlers outside as part of a dare. Baxter then made his way to the public waiting area, which rather unfortunately smelt just like a cell block. He then found an usher and he told him why he was there. He took a seat waiting for a convenient adjournment in a case so that the magistrates may be able to hear his warrant application.
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br /> After watching the frenetic activity of solicitors for both sides scurrying from court to court, case to case, he knew what Hodder meant when he said ‘There is no so thing as justice’…how could such a concept be served efficiently when no one had their mind concentrated on the matter in hand…just another facet of the ‘mincing machine’ being fed.
‘STOP’! He shouted inwardly to himself, ‘You are turning into Hodder’!
As the world passed him by, Baxter returned to reality when the usher approached him saying that the Chairman of the Bench would see him now in the Magistrates Room. For obvious reasons, warrants were never heard in open court, and more often than not, they were sworn out either in the case of Lay Magistrates at their place of work or at home.
As he entered the Magistrates Room, Baxter recognised Warwick Dixon, local businessman councillor and pillar of the community who when he was not dispensing justice or serving democracy was dispensing pillows to the community at his soft furnishing shop in the town centre.
Also present was Stella Simpson, a lifelong feminist, spinster and knitter. On this occasion however, it was her occupation as Magistrates Clerk that dictated her presence. She was required to see that the ‘legal process’ was strictly adhered to, and much more importantly she also had typed copies of the warrant. Parliament had decreed that such valuable documents could not be left with the police, the long established tradition of using the same warrant over and over again at different premises had eventually, and quite sensibly been ‘phased out’. During the course of the ‘working day’ having such influence over the police made Clerks, as a breed, feel very important indeed.
However, at two o’clock on a wet Wednesday morning it was seen as somewhat less of a perk of the job.
Baxter had sworn out numerous warrants and the application followed a very predictable and well-worn path. Firstly, Baxter took the Bible in his hand and despite being a practising atheist, he ‘Swore by Almighty God etc…’ Then after introducing himself by name, rank and number he pre-empted the obvious questions normally asked by Magistrates by stating that the information was, recent, accurate and from a credible source. He increased the self-importance of the Magistrate by further stating that entry to the premises would not be secured without the application being granted.
It always struck Baxter just how little Lay Magistrates actually knew about the law. Like Hodder, who probably planted the seed in his head anyway, he was convinced that they were nothing more than the ‘nodding dogs’ of the criminal justice system.
The warrant was duly granted (in triplicate) Baxter expressed his thanks saying that he would update the Clerk of the results as soon as possible. This was another Hodder ploy: ‘Massage their collective ego’s…Let them think that they are an important and integral part of the system…that way they are more likely to grant your next application’.
As he arrived back in the CID office, Baxter was about to ask for a couple of volunteers to supplement the uniform staff whom he hoped to organise to assist with the execution of the warrant. However, there was a strange and rarely seen atmosphere of activity and purpose in the office with the D.I. centre stage in a small gathering of Detectives. The D.I. was clearly putting together some form of team for what appeared to be an urgent but wholly unwelcome job.
Without wanting to, Baxter caught his eye and the D.I. scribbled something on a pad as he said ‘And where the fuck have you been’? Don’t you listen to the radio or answer your phone’?
Baxter thought better of telling him that there was a strict ‘no mobile’, ‘no radio’ policy in the court complex. ‘You are with ‘Gee-Gee’ he will bring you up to speed, now get your arse up to the hospital and I want good news when you come back’.
Baxter stuttered slightly when he said ‘But Sir, I have a warrant to execute’.
The D.I. raised his voice to a kind of high pitched schoolgirl whine, and tugging at imaginary pigtails, in a hugely patronising, sarcastic and insulting way which reminded Baxter of Joan Collins in the classic Snickers ad. Emphasising his own status…The D.I. said ’Ooh! But Sir, I have a warrant to execute’. There was embarrassed laughter all round as the D.I. continued, this time in a low threatening manner ‘Get to the fucking hospital or I’ll execute you’.
This was clearly not the time to suggest that he was had been in the process of executing a warrant at the request of the D.C.I. He took his cue from ‘Gee-Gee’ who was dangling some car keys provocatively suggesting that it was time to go…they had urgent work to do. What he was really signalling was that he was a feckless and spineless and that he would crawl up anyone’s arse as long as that person was of greater rank than himself.
Baxter just hoped that the D.I. was well lubricated…he followed ‘Gee-Gee’ out of the office feeling resentful, embarrassed and belittled. Though he had no way of knowing it at this point in time, Baxter would later learn that there was no situation that a Police Officer could not make worse.
The Sweet Smell of Rain Page 6